Lowlifes
by Sparks94
Summary: This is just meant to be a bit of fun. Inspired by the song lowlifes by theory of a deadman. Because deatheaters deserve some limelight. OOC and and completely au. What do deatheaters do in there spear time?


Disclaimer: i do not own anything to do with the harry potter make no profit from this. No copyright infringement intended.

I heard the song lowlife by theory of a deadman and it inspired me to write this oneshot. Its meant to be out of character and humourous. Please enjoy and if you want to review please do. Thanks!

Lucius tried to regain his bearings , however nothing seemed to work. One too many firewhiskeys seemed to have fucked him up no matter how much he tried to steady himself. Of course this was none of his fault , ow no , it was his wife's. she had insisted on watching that ... Well there were no words inhuman enough to describe Gregory Goyle. How in the world could their son be friend someone like that was lost on him. Although being that he was a pureblood was good enough he supposed. That's it , he could still see Goyle fly with his fat wobbling and jiggling , he obviously wasn't drunk enough yet. He stumbled to the drinks table in the corner of the premier box they where currently inhabiting. It looked like dignity was against him tonight as he lost his footing and the floor decided it wanted to give his face a hug. He closed his eyes waiting for the impact when nothing happened. He cracked an eyelid open to make sure he was in fact sprawled on the floor. That's when he noticed the hand on his shoulder. He twisted to look to see who his saviour was and smiled brightly at his old friend , Evan Rosier. Of course Evan smiled right back. "Come on Lucius, lets get you back home , you have better drinks then this ... Dishwater anyway" . The two chuckling as they apperrated back to Malfoy manor with a pop.

Antonin Dolohov slammed the rusted red car door as he looked around. He was lost evidently. He was ment to be in Dover by now instead he was stuck in a shitty crossroads with no idea which way he was ment to be heading. The dark lord would deffanatly have his head on a platter for this. Not only that but he was covered in filthy muggle blood and really wanted a shower to rid him self of the rot. How else was he supposed to ... Aquire a muggle thing like a par ... Or was it car? He wasn't to sure , neither cared. And the juggling of the car seat in the back was sending him up the bend! He reached open the back car door fiddle with the car seat before thinking fuck it and ripping it from the car , dropped it on to the dirt road and kicked in into a close by ash tree. He slammed the door and jumped back into the front before picking to go left , after all he was left handed what's more founded on logic then that? He twisted the key expecting it to rev back into life. It made a very disturbing bubbling noise , then stopped. He tried again ... And again...and again. He lost count of how many times he tried before he lost it banged his fists and forehead onto the steering wheel. While loudly screaming to no one in particular "FUCK"

A very fat short man sat in the Conor of the dim bar by himself. The off white of his shirt was covered in what seemed to be beer stains and just plain dirt. The area surrounding his armpits where a straw yellow and looked exactly how it smelled. A muggle had passed him about an hour ago quoting to his friend "he looks like an obese joe dirt." He had no idea who this 'joe dirt' is or was. No he just looked like himself , Peter Pettigrew no one else. The people in the dingy bar stayed away from his table like some invisible shield surrounded him. Although there was no shield , even these bikers and burly men simply knew by instinct that something about this guy just wasn't...right.

Scabior strolled down the moderately busy street. Looking for some one , any one that fit the kind of profile he was after. Because one thing ran through his head , he was sober and it was deffanatly not sitting well with him. Bingo. A little old haggard lady had just dropped her hand bag and was trying to stuff her things back in. He walked over and started helping her pick her things up and put them back into her bag. Her twinkling green eyes cased in wrinkles looked up at him. "Thank you Deary , not many people are so kind , thank you young man" . Scabior smiled at the old Biddy and laced his voice in charm "it's alright love , it was my pleasure." As Scabior turned to walk down the street again he extracted the purse he had shoved up his sleeve and turned down a decrepid ally way. Old people were never street smart , that's what makes them perfect targets , too trusting for there own good. The zip of the purse echoed across the brick walls. Wow the old bat was loaded , there must of been at least 200 in there. Who takes that amount out with them while walking through London of all places. Well he wasn't going to question it. That's when he spotted a little see through bag in a little pocket in the purse. He pulled it out , puzzled he opened it and took a sniff then proceeded to burst out laughing. The old lady had Cocaine on her. He definately was not expecting that. A seriously ill looking teenager walked towards him . He had dark rings around his eyes and a nasty looking sore on the side of his mouth. "I'll pay you how ever much you want for that" he said gesturing to the small baggy. Scabior wasn't going to use it anyway , he could do with more money. "50 , no less" he huffed. The kid whacked out the bills and paid him , took the baggy and left through the entry way Scabior just took. A grin spread wide across his face as he sauntered off to the nearest pub. Looked like he was going to get trailer trashed after all.

Fenrir Greyback sauntered across the lawn in nothing but some old torn cut offs. The only thing accessorizing his outfit was a nearly empty bottle of cheap bourbon. A group of men were looking at him whispering among themselves. Two words ... Bad...idea. The only thing he hated more then humans (or cattle as he often referred to them as such) was humans talking about him. Dice ding he wanted to be drunk more then fighting he tried to walk past them. However he heard one of the elder men not so quietly whisper to his comrades "fucking hillbilly". Fenrir stopped dead in his tracks. Letting out an exaggerated sigh , he smashed his bottle on the floor and turned around smiling , something he can only guess looked slightly demented. Looked like drink would have to wait. As he walked he was already plotting where to hide the remains that he did not wish to eat. That's the good thing about the wiz adding world they knew not to fuck with him , they hated dealing with the sadistic twisted man. And as his fist flew through the air and connected with the jaw of the elder with a sickening pop a single thought went through his head. " it always ends in a fight."

Rab looked up at the ceiling as it spun with exceptional speed. He really should of stopped at the vodka shots. He was stuck in a house he had broke into for no apparent reason even to himself. He lurched forward and nearly brought his gut through his mouth as he tried to steady himself. He squinted trying to figure out where he was. Hopefully still in England unlike last time this happened. This was rodolphus's fault. He was the one who offered him his drinks cabinet for the night. He KNEW Rabastan has a drink problem. He's arms felt chilly and he turned his gaze to them. WHERE. THE. FUCK. WAS. HIS. SLEEVES! The fabric of his louis Vuitton shirt was frayed where the sleeves should be. As he wobbled through the door and down the cobbled street he came to sign , the only problem was that the words were blurring together. Blending into one giant blob of ink. Egh. Rab lent face over a rose bush and let up all his stomachs contents. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he staggered further down the street as if nothing was wrong. As he carried on walking he started to strip first shirt then suit pants then boxers. Feeling no shame in walking down the street as naked as the day he was born. He curled up on a bus stop seats and quickly fell into a deep sleep. He would deal tomorrow. After all who ever came to this bus stop was going to get quite a pleasant view!

Rodolphus Lestrange looked at the small mud blood female curled up on the floor. A cruel smile graced his face with a sinister presence. He bent low and started brushing her hair back out of her face." I told you bitch, you work for me! You sleep with whoever I tell you too and ask no questions" " yes sir" the small woman whispered back. Rods smile grew tenfold as he stated " good girl! Because we now what happens if you don't" as he pulled his robes back so she could get a glimpse of his ebony wand. The young woman started to sob and shake as she nodded frantically , legs still drawn to her chest rocking back and forward. " know give daddy some sugar"

There are many things you could call Evan Rosier but a push over was not one of them. If The guy at the counter of a dodgy market for stolen artefacts thought he could talk to him like that then he had another thing coming. " now listen. You ARE going to give that orb to me AND it is going to be free , or I'm going to break a foot off up your arse." Evan said strangely calmly. The clerk did 2 things that anyone who knew Evan personally knew never to do when he was pissed off. Number one was he smiled and the second was he said 2 words you never say to him. " try it". The screams of the stall owner could be heard throughout the market along with maniacal laughter.

Severus Snape was slouched across a bar table with a fifth of bourbon in his hand. Sitting beside him in equal grace was his life long friend Mulciber. The clock on the wall read 4o'clock. They where waisted. To be perfectly fair ,they had started drinking at 3 ... 2 days ago. The owner of the small bar knew enough not to get involved. The two where blubbering about nothing in particular. But Severus had never felt so relaxed And content. As much sin and debauchery he had committed he had to admit at the one moment , he loved his life.

Bellatrix was currently crawling across the floor of her parlour on her hands and knees. No more scotch. Never. She normally had a high alcohol tolerance. But scotch had fucked her up big time. Everything was lurching. She was pretty sure she was going to die and felt the urge to just cry and whine like a baby. With everything so blurred she had no idea who she was about to bump into. That exact moment her gag reflex kicked in and she hurled like she never hurled before. Blinking away the tears in her eyes she notice that she had puked up on a pair of black shoes. Shoes that where attached to legs. Slowley and horror stricken she looked upon the face of the owner of said shoes. And felt the urge to cry and whine come back tenfold. "I'm sooo sorry master!". You see she only did the unthinkable. She had puked up all over lord Voldemorts shoes. With and expertly performed scorgio he cleaned his shoes and with a hiss of distaste spoke "you are never having a drink again! Do you understand me. Why do i bother with followers like you lot." With a brisk turn and a sharp exit she could her him mutter "lowlifes the lot of you."


End file.
